They did make a rather striking couple, each with their own unique grace—Ronin’s charming and predatory, Mireille’s lithe and elegant.
He ushered her to an intimate table in the corner, then pulled out her chair and placed her napkin in her lap as she sat.
“Sweet Amatu, Matakos. Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”
“Just making sure you get the full experience,” he answered, settling into his own seat across the table. “I’m guessing this is the first date you’ve been on in decades. Centuries maybe.”
She scoffed. “What makes you thinkthat?”
He perused the floppy leather wine menu. “You don’t seem like the type of female who regularly goes on dates.”
“Really?” She huffed, sitting back and crossing her arms. “And what kind offemaledo I seem like to you?”
He ignored her question. “Tell me I’m wrong. When was the last time someone took you out?”
“You’re wrong.” She gifted him a victorious smile. “I went on one just a few days ago.”
“One that didn’t end in you killing someone,” he clarified in a low whisper out of the corner of his mouth.
She snapped her menu open. “Keep up this line of questioning andthisdate will end with me killing someone.”
He tilted his head back in a hearty laugh. “Vicious.” He cocked his head as if listening to some internal voice. “My wolf approves.”
Her own wolf opened her mouth, but before the creature could utter a single, vulgar word, Mireille breathed in for a count of six, held it for a count of six, then breathed out for a count of eight, banishing the beast to the depths of her mind. Navigating her unnerving physical attraction to the tattooed male acrossfrom her was difficult enough without her wolf piping up with sultry comments every few minutes.
The waiter approached to take their drink order, and, again surprising her with his chivalry, Ronin asked, “Do you prefer red or white?”
“Red.”
Ronin ordered a bottle from Nephes, along with Delirium for himself. The waiter rattled off the specials, then bustled away to fetch their drinks.
Ronin placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin upon his inked knuckles as he gazed at her.
“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason. Just figured that you’ve probably prepared a list of questions for us to run through.”
She scoffed, then reached into her bag to pull out the…list of questions she had prepared for them to run through.
He laughed. “I knew it.”
“Happy toamuseyou with my predictability.”
“I look forward to the day when you surprise me, Valette,” he uttered in a low voice that tingled across her limbs. High Gods, Ronin at full charm, even fake charm, was fucking deadly.
She unfolded the sheet of paper, fingers shaking slightly. “Right. Let’s get started. Where were you born?”
“Really? You don’t know this about me already? It’s practically branded on me due to my nickname.”
Mireille shrugged. “Just because you gained your infamy there doesn’t necessarily mean you were born there.”
“You’re partly right.” Ronin dragged a hand through his tousled white hair. “I was born in a small village just outside of Aethalia called Denevrae. My parents were both wolf bi-forms, though they’ve since passed. My twin sister?—”
“You have a twin sister?”
Ronin grinned. “Is that hard to believe?”
Mireille studied his inherently masculine, and frustratingly perfect, face. “I’m trying to picture you in female form.”
